Silk Umbrellas Read Online Free PDF Page B

waist with only her hands touching his shirt.
    On the way to the booth that bought and sold fishing baskets, they passed Mr. Poonsub’s booth.
    “Where are your grandmother’s umbrellas?” he asked. “People have been wanting them, and they’re all gone.” He spread his hands, indicating the lack of umbrellas, his rings flashing.
    “Kun Ya has been feeling tired because of the rains.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Please take her this.” He folded up a square of white silk and wrapped it in paper.
    “Thank you, Mr. Poonsub,” said Noi, taking the package.
    “She’s not painting, but
you
could paint, no?” Mr. Poonsub laughed.
    “I’m not sure, Mr. Poonsub,” Noi said very quietly. How did he know about the little things Kun Ya had asked her to paint? Was he only joking, or did he think she could paint umbrellas so beautifully that he would buy them?
    If he bought them, she would earn money for the household. . . .
    Just then, Noi saw a booth selling radios in rows, all exactly alike, smooth and cold-looking. She wondered if they were the radios that Ting made.
    The sight of the radios made Noi slow down. They seemed out of place in the market. The other goods — Kun Ya’s umbrellas, the wooden carvings, the embroidered cloths — were all made by people. The radios looked as if they were made by machines.
    But the radios
were
made by people, part of her argued. Hadn’t she seen Ting and the others putting them together?
    Noi turned her eyes away. She’d walk in the other direction next time.

Kun Ya slept for three whole days.
    Noi opened the mosquito net and searched for insects that might disturb her sleep. Gently, she massaged the beautiful wrinkles on the backs of Kun Ya’s hands. She thought over and over about what Mr. Poonsub had said. He must have been joking, of course. But his joke made her consider: Hadn’t Kun Ya asked her to paint the butterfly and then the lily pads?
    She wished that Kun Ya would wake up and help her.
    On the third day, Noi took an umbrella of a soft brown color. She closed her eyes and listened for the scene as Kun Ya had taught her. She saw Kun Ya holding a stick of sugar cane out to an elephant. The elephant reached with its trunk.
    Oh, but an elephant! How could the umbrella have asked her to paint something so difficult!
    Slowly, Noi mixed different shades of gray in the bowls. The vision of the elephant had come to her, but she was afraid of spoiling the umbrella.
    She closed her eyes again and looked inside until she could see the elephant in the jungle, could hear its thick feet in the long grass, the small snorts it made with its trunk.
    Noi painted, forgetting about being afraid, keeping the image of the elephant steady within her.
    When Kun Ya woke up, Noi showed her the brown umbrella, twirling it slowly in the gloom of the rainy afternoon. Kun Ya reached out, her hand hovering over the elephant, never touching the silk, but tracing the shapes that Noi had painted. “Someday soon, Noi, you’ll be selling these umbrellas.”
    Noi’s heart beat faster, as though it would strike its way out of her chest. She couldn’t speak a word.
    “It may look as though I’m just sleeping, Noi, but I’m thinking, too.” Kun Ya pressed her hand against her temple. “Paint whenever you can, while you can.”
    How could Kun Ya have known about the conversation with Mr. Poonsub, about Noi’s new hopes, about how the elephant had appeared in her heart, inviting her to paint him?
    “I will, Kun Ya. I’ll paint after school, and when it rains, I will paint all day.”
    So every afternoon, and on rainy mornings, Noi painted. Often, she practiced on pieces of paper before painting on the umbrellas themselves.
    One morning when the rain fell as though the sky was made of water, and lightning had knocked out the power so they had to light the lanterns, Kun Ya lifted a mangosteen in her palm and held it out to Noi. Noi moved as though to take the round, purple fruit, but Kun